Ghost for Sale. Sandra Cox

luck I’d end up in a high-toned brothel after my death.” He shook his head, his glance regretful.

      Brothel? “Excuse me?”

      “Isn’t this a brothel?” He waved his hand around to encompass the room. “Of course, I’ve never been in the kitchen of a bordello, but I imagine they have them. This is the kitchen, isn’t it?” He looked at the shiny stove, the spotless counters, and the black and white ceramic floor.

      “Yes, it is. Why would you call this a brothel?” My knees unlocked, and I sagged deeper into my chair, more fascinated than frightened, everything surreal. I couldn’t possibly be carrying on a conversation with a ghost. No doubt, I was in the middle of a dream, but I’d hate to see it end. Marcy’s ghost intrigued me. For a man well over a hundred years old, he was a major hottie. The HDM paled in comparison.

      “Well, you don’t object to my language, you wear next to nothing, and you were in a very torrid embrace with that man who visited you a little while ago. Though to be fair, you did turn him down, and no coin changed hands.”

      No coin changed hands. Good one. “Times have changed.” If this was a dream, it was the best one I’d had in ages, if I didn’t count the sex dreams.

      “Then I shouldn’t be addressing you so informally, Miss…?” He arched an eyebrow, waiting.

      “King. But Caitlin is just fine.”

      “Miss King.” He gave an abbreviated bow. “I must say, your outfits are scantier than any bordello I’ve been to.”

      “And have you been to many bordellos, Liam? Or should I say, Mr. O’Reilly?” My insides warmed. I shifted toward the ghost, gave him a long look and my best sultry smile. Good Lord. Was I flirting with Marcy’s ghost? Yes, it appeared I was.

      “I’m nineteen, a man full grown. Of course I’ve been to brothels. But whatever era I’m in, this isn’t a fit topic to discuss with a lady.” Once again, his gaze drifted over my attire, or at least what he could see of it from across the table, his expression dubious.

      “You’re having a problem with my outfit, aren’t you?”

      “No problem at all. I like it very much.” His lips tipped upward. His gray eyes sparkled like the sun on the ocean.

      “You just don’t think a lady would wear it.” My throat tickled, and the muscles in my mouth twitched.

      “Not in my time.” He gave an apologetic shrug. “Though now I think of it, a grown man wouldn’t go outdoors in short pants either.”

      That one took me a moment. I remembered the khaki short’s Clayton was wearing and burst out laughing. “What a dream.” I didn’t realize I’d spoken out loud until he nodded.

      “I feel the same way. Do you mind if I sit down?”

      “Be my guest.” I motioned to the chair across the table. It glided smoothly out from the table, and Liam drifted into it.

      “Caitlin, who are you talking to?”

      I jumped. Liam hopped out of the chair and stared at me wildly. Then he turned and bowed to Marcy. “Good evening.”

      “You must not have heard me come in.” She walked to the refrigerator, grabbed a bottle of water, and looked around. “You’re talking to yourself again, aren’t you?”

      “Don’t you…” My brain turned to mush. I flapped my arm wildly in Liam’s direction.

      Marcy stared at my flailing arm in bewilderment. Liam looked back and forth between us, lifted his palms, and raised his eyebrows.

      I regained my voice and my cognitive powers. I was having a breakdown. “What are you doing home so early?”

      “Clayton claimed you thought you saw an intruder. I came home to check on you.” She pulled out the chair Liam had vacated and plopped down.

      “That was sweet of you.”

      “He shouldn’t have left you alone. You need to find someone else. He slipped out the door with that Hathaway slut.” She screwed up her nose as if she’d smelled something distasteful.

      “We aren’t an item.”

      Liam stood with his arms crossed, his face unreadable.

      What was he thinking?

      “Why do you keep staring over my shoulder?” Marcy twisted to look behind her before she shifted back toward me.

      “Sorry.”

      “So why did you think someone was in the house?” She set down the bottle and leaned toward me.

      “Must have been all that talk of ghosts.” I bit my lips together to hold back the hysterical giggle lodged in my throat.

      Marcy looked around, then whispered. “Do you think it was the ghost?”

      My nerves jumped. For the life of me, I couldn’t think of anything to say or why I was so hesitant to tell her the truth. She would have believed me. “Who knows,” was all I could manage.

      Liam looked relieved. Then his eyes crossed as Marcy’s breasts lifted when she stretched her arms over her head. She glanced at her watch. “It’s barely nine o’clock. Let’s go to Jimmy’s.”

      I looked at my ghost…er, Marcy’s ghost. Would Liam O’Reilly be able to go? I couldn’t wait to see his reaction to Jimmy’s. “Sure, why not.”

      Marcy did a quick glance at my shorts and tank top. “Better throw on some jeans. The temp has dropped.”

      “Good idea. I’m going to do that now.”

      When I reached the bedroom, I unsnapped my shorts, thought better of it, and spun around. Sure enough, Liam leaned against the wall, his ankles and arms crossed. “Get out! I’m getting ready to change clothes. And don’t go in Marcy’s room either.”

      He grinned and gave me an appreciative once-over before he disappeared through the wall. Not so much as a ripple marred the smooth surface where he’d just vanished.

      This couldn’t be real. I’d just ordered a ghost out of my bedroom. I pulled my hair. Ouch. I was awake. And even though I had vivid dreams, I doubted if they included the scent of cinnamon and limes that lingered in the room.

      I shook off my unease and threw on jeans and a pink tee, then shrugged into a pink and black plaid jacket and headed out to wait for Marcy. Wonder of wonders, she was ready.

      We walked out, Liam at our side. When we got in the car, he balked. Unobtrusively as possible, I motioned for him to get in. He shook his head. As Marcy started the engine, I opened the door. “Just a minute. I forgot my debit card.”

      “Okay.” She leaned forward and fiddled with the radio.

      I jumped out of the car and jerked my head in the direction of the sidewalk. Liam followed me as I trotted back into the house.

      “Where’s the buggy?” he demanded, his arms crossed, chin jutted.

      I desperately wanted to reach out and touch him, to confirm I wasn’t hallucinating. Instead, I said as calmly as I could, “We don’t ride in buggies. We drive automobiles. Come on. It’ll be fun. You’re a guy. You’ll like it once you get used to it.”

      I was trying to talk a ghost into a car. What was wrong with this picture? I gave myself a mental head slap. On the other hand, on the off chance I was hallucinating, I might as well go ahead and enjoy myself.

      “All right, all right,” he grumbled as we walked to the convertible. I got in the passenger side and slid into soft leather. Feet planted on the driveway, Liam glared at me. I made a motioning gesture with my hand.

      “What are you doing?” Marcy twisted toward me, a puzzled frown on her face.

      “Fanning myself. It’s not nearly as